The Evils of Pickled Onions
by JetNoir
Summary: My contribution to Ntrophi's series. Hershey's machinations have reached such a point that Elliot finds a copycat crime has dire implications for his suffering sanity and the freshness of his breath...


**The Evils of Pickled Onions**

**by JetNoir**

**Note:** If you've come to this story fresh, it might help if you go and read the other stories in the series; created by Ntrophi, and contributed to by Ovo and LadyKayoss. If you have read them PLEASE DON'T FLAME ME! Partially inspired by the mock _Thriller _video on the extras section of the TSW DVD!

* * *

_Trust me Major…you need all the help you can get._

Major Elliot – second in command of Barrier City 42 – had not been having a very good time of it lately. From giant purple caterpillars, to sleeping with his boss; ritual humiliation, and episodes not akin to insanity, had marred any hope that he had ever held for a normal, peaceful life. Mind you; when you're boss is a tyrannical despot who occasionally – mostly due to chocolate (spiked or otherwise) – has the mental age of a three year old, has fits of violent paranoia, and is a rubbish cook to boot; and when you're fighting off a woman that has to be completely and irrevocable insane – though she has a _really_ cute nose – then a peaceful life can only be a dream in the ether.

This morning, no broken alarm clock woke up Major Elliot, for at the sound of a large BANG, he leaped out of his bed, and groped around for the alarm clock, then realising, that no alarm clock BANGED (and the fact the clock was broken), ducked behind the bed, wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and teddy-bear covered boxers, put his hands over his head.

"Why, good morning soldier," came a cute little chuckle. Elliot popped his head up, confused.

"Hershey? Whaaart _are_ you doing?"

In full military uniform, Major Hershey, smiled wickedly, wriggled her nose, and pointed a gun at Elliot, _then pulled the trigger!_

Elliot fell back gasping, as an agonising pain shot round his system. Tears flowed through his eyes, as he rolled on the floor. This just happened to continue for some time until Elliot realised that he had not been shot.

"Finished?" Hershey smiled more broadly at him.

"B…b…bbb…ut. YOU SHOT ME!"

"Cap Gun, darling."

"CAP GUN. WHAT IS THIS?"

"Weeeeellll," said Hershey, in light (actually, make that moderate) mockery of Elliot's earlier style of speech, "you are 'bout three hours late, so the General sent me to find you, and give you the following message: GET A MOVE ON! There weerrree a lot more nasty words in there, but I thought I'd better protect my Eli-poo's delicate earry wearrys." She wriggled her nose again.

_Ah,_ thought Elliot, _she's going into psychopath mode. How do I handle this?_

He straightened up, and tried to look as dignified as possible, (which isn't easy in teddy-bear boxers): "Thankyou for the message Major. Dismissed." Hershey looked a little disappointed, as she flicked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and walked softly out.

Looking around desperately, he simultaneously tried to pull on a uniform, and check that there had been no more cameras's planted. He didn't trust Hershey as far as he could throw her, and more pictures of that night…were not really what he wanted at the minute.

"Reporting for attention, General, sir!" cried Elliot, as internally he winced, _did it just sound like that?_

"Thankyou for joining us," murmured General Hein, "it's nice of you to have joined us. In case you haven't realised, we have a serious situation." With suitable dramatic aplomb, and an improvised drum-roll from Hershey _(where did Hershey spring up from? where did she get that drum from?)_ the General reached under his desk, and pulled up a jar. He plonked it on the table so heavily, it almost shattered. "Ta-da!" Elliot looked blankly at the small white spheres floating in an amber liquid.

"Pickled Onions," said Elliot, "since when did Pickled Onions warrant a serious situation?"

He looked up to see the General slumped over the desk. Elliot swivelled and glared warily (and mostly unsuccessfully) at a bored Hershey, who at that moment, had chosen to file her nails.

"What's going on Major?" Elliot cried, "What have you done this time?"

"Stick around and find out!" said Hershey, "I'm off…got a Council meeting." Elliot frowned, but Hershey was far to quick for a reaction, as she sprinted out.

_Guurooaaagggghhhhhhhhhy _

'_That was a funny noise. Am I that hungry?' _thought Elliot.

_Guurooaaagggghhhhhhhhhy _

'_There it was again. Right behind me. Surely my stomach isn't behind me.'_ He swivelled yet again, to be confronted by a wide-eyed Hein, leering at him. Elliot was immediately struck at how…rank, and disgusting the General's breath smelt this morning.

_Guuurrrgh…breath…want………………………………………pick…gurrghhhhhhhhggghhhh…led…onions!_

Elliot recoiled in horror, and blurted: "Sir, you may have had to many, judging by the state of your breath. Maybe you should brush your teeth?"

_Guur…WANT……………………………ONIONS! _

Elliot shrieked, and fled behind the door. He had seen this in a movie somewhere, shown in the late night special…in fact, he hadn't been able to sleep for seven nights afterwards. It seemed that General Hein had somehow…been turned into…A ZOMBIE! Elliot shrieked in terror, and ran down the corridor for all his life's worth.

When he was sure he wasn't being followed, he paused for a moment, and panted. _Sure getting out of shape._ An urgent notice that had been placed on the notice board caught his eye. It read like this:

URGENT NOTICE

By order of General Hein, all personnel of Barrier City 42 base are forbidden to eat Pickled Onions. There has been a copycat crime to the ones perpetrated by the Deep Eyes squadron (who are not under suspicion, due to their current state of incarceration), in which the entire Bases stock has been spiked.

I rule.

_General Hein._

Ah, though Elliot again, _that_ would explain things. So, Hein was a zombie. Not much change there…all Hein ever seemed to do was groan, and he _was_ going for a Goth look, with all the black leather. Repressed memories of _the night_ flooded back, and Elliot recoiled in horror.

Did I REALLY do that? Something Hershey missed, thank God.

Swiftly shaking his head, and ridding his mind of all thought, trying to re-repress the memories he didn't want in the first place, he began to sprint – then thinking better of it, just walked down the corridor.

"Dr Sid!" Elliot called, as he spotted the shuffling form of the old man…well, shuffling down the corridor. "Dr Sid! Stop!"

_Uuuurgh?_ The whites of Sid eyes showed, as he began to shuffle towards Elliot.

No! This is the last thing I need right now! 

Running swiftly in the opposite direction, seemed the most sensible thing to do, but Elliot knew that Hein was somewhere in front, so ducking in the first room he came too, Elliot was squirted in the face with a foul smelling-liquid.

"Ow!" he cried, wiping his eyes, "Aki!"

Indeed it was, Dr Aki Ross was holding some kind of spray can.

"Major Elliot! You're not…zombified!"

"Really…how did you figure that one out?"

"You haven's yet said 'Urrgh'."

"Fine, whatever. What are you doing, and what is in that can?"

"Garlic."

"GARLIC!" 

"Yes, garlic. Spiked Pickled Onions are the cause of this, so how do you stop a strong substance? By exposing it to a stronger substance. Liquefied garlic. Quid Pro Quo."

"Does it work? And I believe the saying is Cogito Ergo Sum!"

"You're wrong, and it does work. I've freed most of the base personnel, and I've just made a fresh batch."

Elliot sighed. Not one for heroics, he realised that to free the base, he had better do something.

"Give me a can Dr." Aki twisted and threw him one, and smiled wickedly:

"Let's go kick some zombie butt!"

Major Elliot just shook his head, and yelled at her rapidly retreating form, "this isn't a movie you know! Try not to get killed!"

Women. Elliot knew that he would _never_ understand them. At one moment, sweet, loving, and demurring – the next, action heroes, or full-on psychopaths!

_NEXT MORNING _

He and Aki had done a good job. In just a few hours, the entire base was back to normal, even, regrettably, Hein.

You know, I think I preferred him when he was a Zombie. Bit scarier, but far more intelligent.

As he slowly rose from the floor, using the bed he must have fallen out of as leverage, his eyes fell upon a wrapped package on the table. The paper was covered in teddy bears, and it was topped off with a lovely red bow.

Stumbling over, he swiftly unwrapped it.

It was a jar of…

PICKLED ONIONS!

Even worse, there was a note attached to it, and Elliot felt close to tears as he read it:

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_Here are some onions,_

_Now your breath will stink too!_

_**-H.**_

THE END…_or is it?_

**Note:** This has been a really weird (albeit fun) story to write. However, I have got a lot of fantastic material to back me up, and I do feel a bit cheeky, to write this, but I just couldn't resist. Worryingly, the surreal, and pickled onions, seem to be continuing, with another story I'm posting today. Hope you enjoyed it!

**Disclaimer: **Characters/Scenario are copyright to Square Pictures/Ntrophi; and the story to me. This story has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page without my express written permission. Thankyou!

**JetNoir**


End file.
